


Rough Landing

by sister_coyote



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Backstory, Community: yaoi_challenge, Elemental Magic, Fightsex, M/M, OrgXIII, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-24
Updated: 2007-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_coyote/pseuds/sister_coyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes, despite all his careful precautions, despite his safeguards against thinking too much, the hollow space inside Xigbar aches like a hole with no bottom, like falling forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough Landing

_sometimes_, _despite_ _all_ _his_ _careful_ _precautions_, _despite_ _his_ _safeguards_ _against_ thinking _too_ _much_, _the_ _hollow_ _space_ _inside_ _Xigbar_ _aches_ _like_ _a_ _hole_ _with_ _no_ _bottom_, _like_ _falling_ _forever_

Xigbar finds Xaldin in the Hall of Empty Memories. (The castle named itself, and while most of them—especially Xemnas and Saix—take the names perfectly seriously, Xigbar is still half-expecting to find a broom closet called the Chamber of Sweeping Away the Past or something.) Xaldin practices alone, his own version of katas or target practice. His spears whirl around him like a cage, break and sweep toward the wall, change direction at the last possible moment and wing back toward their master, whistling on the air. The wind moans low.

Xigbar puts his hand on the balcony and leaps off, and gravity obliges him and drops him just where he means to land, twenty feet from Xaldin. And Xaldin doesn't need to be _told_, which is the best part, because Xigbar doesn't like talking about any of this. Their way of dealing has nothing to do with words. So he isn't surprised that Xaldin doesn't even turn before the lances wing toward him in a deadly phalanx, points-down, deadly earnest. They would strike, too, if he didn't grab a handful of strings of space and use them to catapult himself across the room, in front of Xaldin.

The wind shrieks in his ears, but two can play at that. He gestures, and gravity bends to his will and drags Xaldin down. Xaldin falls rolling, gesturing again, and the spears scream as they torque and turn and lance back toward Xigbar. He has to let go of Xaldin to teleport himself out of the way, and even so he feels the cold nick of the edge of one of the spears, slicing through black cloth and drawing a thin line of blood on his upper arm.

His guns blaze to life in his hands, and he twists the forces of the world again to suspend him, upside-down. It isn't just a trick for appearances, although that's part of it—it's _useful_. People are taught to pick their targets, to aim, on the assumption that human bodies are oriented in particular ways, and move in particular ways. Contravening that gives him an edge, and he never turns down an edge.

His gun spits green-fire arrows. Xaldin knocks them aside with a gust of wind, but he has to let go of his careful control of his spears to do that, which makes it easy for Xigbar to dodge and snap off another volley. He skates on nothing, circling around, as Xaldin collects himself, spears whirling in an intricate defensive pattern around him. The spears shift suddenly, from point-down to point-up, and Xigbar sees them flying at him in a phalanx, blood-tipped spear at the fore

_and_ _Xaldin_ _will_ _kill_ _him_ _if_ _he_ _is_ _not_ _careful_, _because_ _there_ _are_ _no_ _safeties_ _here_, _in_ _this_, _no_ _way_ _out_ _but_ _down_ _and_ _down_ _and_ _down_

and he increases gravity in their immediate location and drags them to the ground and at the same time brings his gun up and —

— and it all happens fast after that: spear, guns, gravity; the white-and-black world blurring around them; the cold pressure of wind; a spear lodging itself in his thigh, so that he has to pull it out, the wound dark with his blood —

— and Xaldin wrenching an arrow from his own shoulder —

— and the way it turns from fighting to _not_, copper blood on the air, the galeforce of wind and the crush of gravity —

"Blood," Xaldin says, drawing a deep breath. Xigbar's thigh runs with it, but already the wound starts to close: for some reason, these bodies, powered by will and not by feeling, are tougher than they once were, and faster to heal. But then they run not as nature intended them to, but on pure will.

"You, too," Xigbar says, and warm blood pulses over his fingers when he touches Xaldin's shoulder, where the arrow sank in: but that wound is closing, too. Soon it will be a scar, and then nothing.

"Come on," Xaldin says, teeth bared but his voice almost pleading: "don't back out on me now."

_because_ _the_ _world_ _spins_ _beyond_ _their_ _grasp_ _and_ _there's_ _nothing_ _to_ _hold_ _on_ _to_, _anymore_

They are not gentle. Xaldin drags down his zipper and he does the same, wrapping one of Xaldin's braids around his hand and pulling hard, using it as a leash to bring Xaldin closer. It's not a kiss so much as a bite that he drags him in for, teeth sinking into Xaldin's lip. "Come on, you bastard," he says, heated and without malice. "You know what I want."

Xaldin shoves his cloak back—but not quite off, so his arms are trapped briefly in the sleeves. As he struggles to push it the rest of the way off, Xaldin sweeps a leg around the back of Xigbar's knees and knocks him to the ground. Xigbar torques gravity to soften his landing and unbalance Xaldin at the same time, and then they're both down, snarling.

Xigbar gets one arm loose from his cloak and drags open Xaldin's pants, fast and rough, pulling out his cock.

He wets his lips and goes down fast, tasting skin and sweat and pre-come, and Xaldin _groans_. Xigbar pulls off and back just as fast, and a little twist of gravity holds Xaldin down long enough that he can't just thrust, and now Xaldin snarls. "You—"

"Me," Xigbar agrees, grinning the wide grin that pulls tight on the scarred side. "You've known me long enough; shouldn't surprise you." He lets go of Xaldin, who gets to his feet surprisingly fast. Doesn't bother to do anything about his open trousers. _Does_ start to strip off his gloves, slowly, advancing.

Xigbar stands his ground and thinks about summoning his guns again. Xaldin grabs his wrist _hard_, and twists it to pin his arm—and the gun is in Xigbar's other hand, the points of its arrows against Xaldin's bare stomach, just above his cock, and Xaldin says, "Well, well."

Xigbar knows he couldn't kill him, because there's nobody else to do _this_ for him, when he needs it—and when he needs it, he _needs_ it, more than breath—but Xaldin doesn't have to know that: and that's the secret between them.

_and_ _it's_ _like_ _freefalling_, _this_ _whole_ _unlife_, _the_ _dizzying_ _lurch_ _and_ _nothing_ _to_ _catch_ _them_

Xaldin doesn't go for any of the obvious remarks but he does let go of Xigbar's hand, and Xigbar's gun melts away again and then he's on his knees without thinking about it, because he wants to not think. Xaldin's cock is big enough to fill his mouth, press his tongue down (and he's got a big mouth, anyone would agree)—and he rocks hard, taking Xaldin deep. Xaldin's hand coils in his hair and yanks, and he doesn't comply but pulls against it until the tug makes his eyes water; sensory overload that makes him forget for a few minutes.

Then Xaldin's pulsing against his lips and he tastes come on the back of his tongue.

And _then_ Xaldin's dragging on his hair again, pulling him to his feet, and now he complies. Xaldin's kneeling even before Xigbar's all the way on his feet, and Xigbar gets his pants open and then _heat_, wet heat. Xaldin uses a lot of tongue when he sucks a guy off, and Xigbar has no problem with that _whatsoever_. He throws his head back, he's shaking, he snarls, "_Fuck_, man, that's—" and he doesn't have time to finish the sentence before he's coming down Xaldin's throat.

Xaldin gets to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes half-closed. The gap is still there, but it's receding in importance. Xaldin cocks his head, still without his cloak, casually uncaring, and says, "Coffee?"

"Fuck, yes. There's not a drop of decent coffee in that whole world."

_and_ _they_ _can't_ _stop_ _the_ _descent_, _but_ _they_ _can_ _break_ _each_ _other's_ _fall_; _and that's, just barely, enough_


End file.
